


doctor

by gottacatchghosts (octolingkiera)



Series: thicker than ectoplasm — danny and jazz [1]
Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Gen, blood/ectoplasm, maybe a little dissociation?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 15:06:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13216338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octolingkiera/pseuds/gottacatchghosts
Summary: jazz shouldn't have to patch him up all the time





	doctor

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this probably about eight-ish months ago? i was gonna write a series of ficlets/drabbles/oneshots about danny and jazz but i only got two of them before i moved on from danny phantom (for now)
> 
> but i'm making a little comeback so i can write my slackta gift and found these. so i figured i'd post them lol
> 
> this is real short but its got some imagery i really like

Jazz’s room smells like lavender. Danny makes himself think about the way the smell clings to the inside of his nose to ignore the acidic and strangely sweet scent of ectoplasm and the harshness of antiseptic. He holds his arms tight against his chest. He doesn’t want to bleed on his sister’s carpet.

Jazz is seated in front of him, busy rooting through the hefty first aid kit she was forced to buy a while back. She doesn’t ask any questions and Danny doesn’t give any answers.

His chest hurts every time he takes a breath so he tries to avoid breathing as much as possible.

Jazz eventually turns back to him, a roll of bandages in one hand and medical tape in the other and tells him to move his arms. He wants to protest, worried about the stains, worried about the mess, worried what would happen if their parents find even a drop of toxic green anywhere near their perfect daughter, but he keeps his mouth shut.

He moves his arms and listens to Jazz hiss in disapproval. He wants to go invisible but he won’t. He won’t do that to her. Danny doesn’t want to scare Jazz. He sits still as she carefully unzips the front of his suit—he’s only just holding on to his ghost form and only because he doesn’t want to harm his human physiology when his ghost side uses the much more malleable ectoplasm—and doesn’t flinch when she starts the cleaning process.

It takes her roughly three minutes to wipe away the drying, excess blood and another minute to properly disinfect it. The antiseptic wash doesn’t burn like peroxide or rubbing alcohol but it still sizzles upon contact with the foreign substance. It doesn’t hurt, thankfully, so Danny ignores it, staring at the old Ember posted that Jazz still keeps on her wall.

Danny thinks about asking Ember for an album for his sister for Christmas. He thinks about finally mustering up the courage to ask for guitar lessons. He thinks about how she and Sam have such a similar sense of style that they’d probably be friends. He thinks about the time when she teamed up with Youngblood. Then he thinks about Youngblood.

He’ll think about anything to avoid thinking about how Jazz shouldn’t have to be his doctor.

He thinks about telling her this—again—but he knows she won’t listen. He wants to tell her that she should be free to live her own life without having to worry about his, without having to worry about whether her younger brother is going to bleed out on her bedroom floor, but he doesn’t want to see the tears she’ll hold back when she yells at him for ever thinking she wouldn’t want to help him.

She starts wrapping the bandages around his torso, tight enough to pressure the wound but loose enough to still breathe, and he finally looks back at her as she tapes off the end. The bandages are applied well, better than he would have been able to do alone, and he lets his gratitude show on his face.

“Thanks Jazz.”

She doesn’t smile but she doesn’t look upset anymore. She sets her supplies to the side and cups his face in her hands, holding him gently in place as she stares into his eyes. He squirms a little uncomfortably but she doesn’t let go. An awkward minute passes and she leans in to kiss his forehead. He feels his face flush and he knows it must be lit up like a traffic light.

He can’t find it in him to care.

“Anytime. I love you, little brother.”

Jazz doesn’t care and maybe, just maybe, that’s good enough.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are appreciated!!


End file.
